


Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle

by Isis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Book 1: A Game of Thrones, Female Jon Snow, Gen, Gender Roles, Male Arya Stark, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: Bastard boys can go to the Wall.  Bastard girls have fewer options.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Arya Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 175
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [facethestrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facethestrange/gifts).



> Title, and a few lines of dialogue, are from _A Game of Thrones_.

Jo entered the room with some trepidation, and in her head she scolded herself for it. For hadn’t her father always been as kind and generous to her as he’d been to his trueborn children? Hadn’t he treated her as a part of the family, and stood between her and his wife Catelyn when Jo had accidentally given offense? It had never seemed to her, before, that being a Snow rather than a Stark made much of a difference. Yet over the weeks of King Robert’s visit it had become ever clearer to her that her bastardy set her apart from her sister and her brothers.

“Joanna,” said her father, and that made her heart sink even more, that he didn’t call her ‘Jo’ as he usually did. She was Jo to him, and to her brothers; it was only Catelyn and Sansa who called her Joanna. “The King has asked me to be his Hand, and I have accepted.”

“That’s a great honor,” she said, even though she hadn’t cared for what she’d seen of the King. Her eyes went to Lady Catelyn, who sat straight-backed and solemn in her chair, then back to her father. “You will be going with him to King’s Landing?”

He nodded. “As will your sister, and Arryk as well.”

“Arryk?” She couldn’t keep the dismay from her voice. She got on well enough with Robb, who was closest in age to her, but Arryk was her favorite brother. It was partly because they looked so much alike; it made Jo feel less of a bastard, as though Arryk’s presence in the family proved that Jo was part of it, too. “But he’s only nine.”

“I was eight when my father sent me to foster at the Eyrie. He’s younger than Prince Joffrey, older than Prince Tommen. It will strengthen the bridge between our families.”

 _Strengthen_ , he had said; not _build_. Jo had watched from the side bench of the Great Hall as Sansa had walked in with Joffrey Baratheon. Beside her, Septa Mordane had sighed. “A good match that would be for our Sansa. Do you see how she looks at him?”

Jo had seen. Of course Sansa would be wed to the son of some great House. Why not the greatest? Why not the prince?

She turned to Lady Catelyn. “I’ll do what I can to be a help to you. I can take care of Bran, do whatever –”

“You will not be staying.” Her voice cut sharply through the air, like an axe chopping firewood for the hearth.

It was said harshly, but still, a spark of excitement flared in her chest. Could it be that she would be going to King’s Landing? Jo had not even been introduced to the king and queen, had been relegated to Septa Mordane’s care during the feasting instead of sitting at the high table with the rest of the family. Not that she wanted to leave Winterfell for the south. But if she could be with Father, and with Arryk….

She looked up at him, hope in her eyes. He shook his head. “Nay, Jo. We’ve talked about it, and we have decided that the best thing for you is to go to White Harbor.”

“White Harbor?” she repeated, uncomprehendingly.

“Septa Mordane will accompany you to the motherhouse of the Sept of the Snows. Lord Wyman Manderly is a Northman, and I trust him to ensure that you’re well taken care of.”

“But I don’t want to be a septa. You raised me to follow the old gods of the North.”

Her father glanced at Lady Catelyn. That was a point of contention between them, she knew. It had been agreed that Catelyn would bring up their children in the Faith of the Seven, and he had had a small sept built for her; but Ned Stark made his prayers in the godswood, and so did Jo. 

“We don’t expect you to become a septa, Jo, it’s only for while I’m gone. Septs have always taken in daughters of noble houses when they need a safe place to stay.”

 _Winterfell is a safe place_ , she thought. But Catelyn Stark’s face was hard, and Jo could guess that she must have been the one to put the thought in her father’s head. She must have insisted that Jo be sent away.

There was nothing she could do. She bowed her head, and took her leave.

* * *

It didn’t take long to pack her things. She’d be coming back – she hoped she’d be coming back – and unlike Sansa, she wouldn’t need morning-gowns and evening dresses and whatever else young ladies wore in King’s Landing. Sansa had excitedly told her that she’d be having new clothes made when they got there: “The queen says that if I’m to attend her I must be dressed like a proper lady. Not that we don’t have fine things here, but I expect styles are very different in the south.”

“I expect they are,” said Jo, who didn’t particularly care about fashion.

“Of course it will take time to have them made, and then there is the journey, so I will have to bring everything; warm clothes for the north and light ones for the south. It’s so far to King’s Landing! Maester Luwin showed me a map. You’ll be cozy in White Harbor before we even get as far as the Neck!”

 _Cozy_ , thought Jo. It was cozy here in her room at Winterfell, with its rich tapestries covering the stone walls to keep out the chill, and Ghost curled at the foot of her bed. Would they even let her bring Ghost into the sept?

She was closing the single trunk that held everything she’d decided to take with her when Arryk burst into the room. “Jo, Jo, they can’t send you away! I won’t let them!”

Jo sat on her bed and patted the space next to her. “It’s all right, little brother. It’s not for long, I hope. But I wish I could come with you instead.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” said Arryk, making a face. “The south sounds boring. _I’d_ rather go north. Did you hear Uncle Benjen talk about the Wall? _That_ sounds like an adventure.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” agreed Jo. “It’s a pity I wasn’t born a boy. Then I could go to the Wall instead of to the sept.”

“You’d be a great boy. Sansa always teases me because I’d rather play with you than with Bran. But Bran’s a _baby_.”

Jo hid her smile. Bran was closer to Arryk’s age than she was. But it was true, they had fun together; they battled with the wooden practice swords behind the hay barn, where nobody could see them, and they played follow-the-leader through the godswood and along the battlements, and sometimes Arryk would sit with her while she stitched a wolf-sigil to be sewn onto one of her brothers’ tabards, and they’d make up stories about knights and squires, dragons and sailing ships. Septa Mordane didn’t like it – always scolded Jo that she needed to be more ladylike, that she had to practice her needlework and her music. But she never kept Jo from her games with Arryk, and Lady Catelyn seemed to think that they were good preparation for an eventual life as a lady’s companion and teacher to her lady’s children. That was the only path open to her – that, or marriage, but Lady Catelyn had made it clear that her options were few, as a bastard of no great beauty. At least she wouldn’t be sold to the highest bidder, which seemed to be Sansa’s fate. 

“Oh!” said Arryk suddenly, interrupting Jo’s thoughts. “Wait here. I have something for you.”

“Where would I go?” said Jo, but Arryk had already dashed out the door. He returned a moment later with something wrapped carelessly in a cloth. 

“It’s not done up with a fancy bow, sorry,” he said, placing it in her arms. “But it’s a present for you to take with you.”

Jo unwrapped it, and her eyes went wide. “A sword,” she said in a small, hushed breath.

“It’s my old sword, the one I used when I was a kid. Before I got big and strong, like I am now,” said Arryk, a bit boastfully. Jo forbore to laugh. “I don’t know why I kept it. But it’s probably light enough for a girl.”

She drew the blade slowly from its scabbard. “It feels different from the wooden practice swords.”

“That’s because it’s real. Don’t cut yourself.”

Experimentally she slashed it through the air. Arryk was right, it was no toy. It was short and light compared to the swords Robb and Theon used, but it was a real sword, with a fine edge and a glinting sheen.

Sighing, she replaced it into the scabbard, then wrapped it back in its cloth. “Thank you, Arryk. Though I’m not sure what I’m going to do with a sword in the Sept of the Snows.”

“That’s just it, Jo! You don’t have to go. You can sneak away on the journey, disguise yourself as a boy, and go to the Wall! The sword’s to protect you on the way. You’ll have a grand adventure, while I’m stuck in stupid King’s Landing.”

She opened her trunk again. There was plenty of room for the sword, and she placed it carefully among her clothes, then pulled a few things over it so nobody would see it if they glanced inside. “You’re being rather ambitious on my behalf. I’m not sure I know enough about fighting to defend myself. And the Wall’s a long way off – what if I run into bandits?”

“You’ll be great at it,” Arryk assured her. “Just stick them with the pointy end!”

She hugged him, laughing, and did not let herself cry until he’d gone.


End file.
